


The Sport of Bragging

by ruralfishingcat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bonding Moments, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Season/Series 03, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruralfishingcat/pseuds/ruralfishingcat
Summary: Lance was particularly exceptional when it came to bragging about himself; Keith had a growing suspicion he could even make it into a sport. It was a bit annoying, but bearable. And it was almost as though Lance wanted him to respond, waiting with baited breath and expectant looks. From what he could tell, though, Keith was not doing so well in their childish, arbitrary game. Maybe he had to change his approach.





	The Sport of Bragging

It was childish, really, but maybe that’s what they all were, having been unknowingly thrust into the role of defenders despite being only on the cusp of adulthood. It was not unlike an immature dream, a world protected by children and teenagers while all the adults were conveniently absent. Instead of exercising their newfound freedom and unsoiled joy, as most media would time and time again imply took place when youth ran amok and unsupervised, their days were filled with exhausting training drills—both mentally and physically—on good days and life-threatening chaos on worse days. 

Their confidence, fueled mainly by the supposed invincibility of the teenage years, was readily challenged by danger insistent on leaving only ashes and broken families in its wake. The days were distractions filled with aimless chatter, the nights garish and sculpted from a doubted existence, a deep, coiling desire to prove one’s presence. The universe had always far exceeded humanity, but the added knowledge of vast planets and space that up until a few months prior had been entirely unknown—it was jarring, unnerving, a bleak reminder of the minuscule portionof space humans inhabited, that which was not far from a speak of dust, comparably.

At least, that was how Keith saw it. He could see it in Lance’s glazed expression, present in the mention of beaches, family, and a multitude of other fond memories. He noticed the way Pidge spoke of Matt, her voice simultaneously certain and wavering. It was in the fond, melancholic references Hunk made about his mother. Even apparent was Shiro’s tendency to tap windows and fiddle with chairs, his urge to remind himself of his escape nearly insatiable. Both Allura and Coran suffered, their last Atlean contact with others having been 10,000 years ago, the decrepit castle a painful reminder.

All the nostalgia and sadness, so familiar by then, was expertly disguised; none of them wanted the patronizingly apologetic smile directed at them. And yeah, maybe the approach was childish.

Keith had never felt as young as he did while Lance stared at him with _that_ look, though.

 

~ Three weeks earlier ~

 

Lance was practically preening, covered in a mixture of sweat, pride, and cockiness. “Yeah, I was already sure that it’d be no problem—for me at least. Not sure I could say the same about Keith, but that’s why you guys know to rely on numero uno.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “So you managed to fly your lion properly for once. Congratulations.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. Keith heard Pidge sigh in the background while Allura, intelligent as ever, tugged on Coran and snuck the two of them out. 

“Guys, please don’t fight,” Hunk begged. He looked as tired as Keith felt; the mission, albeit successful, had been a long, arduous one. “We just saved a planet’s only water source. Isn’t that like, awesome? We should be celebrating—let’s celebrate. I’m going to go make a cake—”

“No, no,” Lance said, waving his friend off. He took a step toward Keith and slouched, leaning his face to stare up at Keith’s. Keith hated it when he used his height to an advantage, even moreso when he used it by making himself shorter to prove a point—a point which Keith could never decipher, but that was there regardless. “I want to know why Mullet thinks he’s so great when the most he did was _get caught_.”

Keith stood impeccably still, balling his hands into fists. He had enough experience to not be affected by Lance’s flighty movements and desire to push himself into the face of whomever he was arguing with; it only egged him on, excited him with the prospect of flustering someone. It was a power play, Keith assumed, whether or not Lance realized it. There was no such delight adorning Lance’s face, though; his expression was one of considerable indignation, which was befuddling. Keith’s first remark had been teasing, unsure but mainly a retort to Lance’s babbling. He didn’t understand why such fury had suddenly encompassed Lance’s words, his tone, his blazing eyes. Keith swallowed down the urge to take a placating step backwards if only to allow himself to breathe without the fear of blowing air right onto the bridge of Lance’s nose. It would be taken as a forfeit, though, a concept that Keith refused to consider despite its likelihood to diminish the heavy, growing tension.

“I got caught to save you from the brunt of the laser,” Keith snapped. So much for gratitude; no good deed ever went unpunished—especially when it incorporated Lance. “Your lion couldn’t have safely taken another hit. Not to mention the fact that I was able to also get un-caught by myself.”

“I don’t think that’s a word,” Hunk said nervously. “Pidge, is that a word?”

“I want nothing to do with any part of this,” Pidge said, eyes intently trained on her laptop. She was always the smart one. If it was up to Keith, he would want nothing to do with it, either. “Other than some free entertainment.”

“Let’s just all calm down,” Shiro said. His voice was relaxed, but Keith knew that he was inwardly annoyed, exasperated at being the constant mediator of the team. “I know that emotions can be heightened after a mission, so let’s take a moment.”

Lance sneered. “A moment? I need a lifetime away from him.”

“The airlock’s that way,” Keith shot back.

“I hate your face!” Lance yelled and shoved Keith, hard.

“Lance!” Shiro frowned.

Keith stumbled backwards, reaching out for balance. A small, warm hand firmly caught his arm, stabilizing him. He glanced at Pidge, offering her a grateful look. She gave him a soft smile. 

Keith looked back to Lance, who appeared even more irate than before.

“Why are you guys always taking his side!”

“Because my side is always right!” When had he started shouting?

“Enough!” Shiro yelled. His hand was splayed out against his forehead, tense and whitening with force, making it resemble his bangs. “You two are lucky we’re not on a mission right now. Voltron would never be formed with this kind of behavior.”

Keith sighed, crossing his arms. “He started it.”

Shiro shot him a sharp glance. “I don’t care. Just make sure this is resolved by our next mission. And remember that it could be at any point—even today.”

And he was gone. Pidge was once again tapping away at her laptop, her hand no longer gifting Keith unspoken moral support. Hunk stood awkwardly, eyes shifting back and forth from Keith to Lance as though spectating a heated tennis match. Keith itched to look back and soak up Lance’s expression, but also didn’t want to so much as glance in his direction. 

“Whatever,” Lance said, and was off in a huff. Hunk fidgeted with his hands for a moment before reluctantly trailing after.

Keith scowled. “Why does he have to be so annoying?”

“You didn’t have to antagonize him,” Pidge pointed out.

“What! I was just responding to his jab. That was hardly antagonistic.”

“It’s Lance, though,” she said dully. “You know he’s sensitive about his piloting skills.”

“Yeah well!” Keith tightened his arms. “Then he shouldn’t be going around bragging about it when he can’t take criticism.” 

“ _It’s Lance, though_ ,” Pidge said. “That’s essentially an innate skill of his. I’m honestly surprised you still take the bait.”

Keith frowned. “What do you mean.”

“It’s obvious he’s only making those comments out of a need for praise.”

“I don’t understand.”

Pidge snorted. “When _do_ you?”

“Sometimes you’re as bad as Lance.”

She whined. “Oh come on, Keith. That’s a low blow.”

He cracked a small smile as the two fell into an easy silence. Surprisingly enough, Pidge pushed her laptop aside and abandoned it in favor of staring knowingly at Keith. He was beginning to wish she would return to her electronic tunnel vision that was normally so obnoxious. Now, though, it seemed like a blessing—anything to make her stop looking at him with that expression.

“I know how easy it is for him to rile you up, but maybe just take a moment before responding next time. I get that you like to act on impulse, I do. But just consider it. Your hesitation could be the difference between a fight and a civil conversation. At least, as civil as the two of you can manage.”

Keith dropped his arms to the side. “Should I…Should I apologize?”

He was certainly capable of saying sorry, but directing it at Lance felt off, as though its consequences had the potential to be more dangerous than Zarkon’s wrath. Would Lance accept the apology? Would he offer one of his own? Could they…

“Earth to Keith,” Pidge said, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

Keith blinked. “We’re not on Earth.”

Pidge eyed him warily for a tick before snorting. “So Hunk was right; you can make jokes.”

“Not important,” Keith said. Jokes were more of Lance’s schtick anyway. Keith didn’t want to go through the grueling effort of determining whether or not it was an appropriate time for a joke, whether or not his current company would appreciate or even understand said joke, and whether or not he was actually making a joke or had just entirely missed a social cue or situation. It didn’t seem like Lance put in that level of effort—if only he put that much effort into _training_ —or perhaps he was expertly self-learned in doing so quickly and correctly. Though to be fair, Lance did sometimes pick an inopportune time to crack a joke, but it was also highly likely that it was on purpose for the sake of being inappropriate.

“Yes, important,” Pidge said. “Lance likes jokes.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Lance IS a joke.”

Pidge unsuccessfully tried to cover her snigger with a well timed cough. “I won’t tell him you said that, even if I’d love to count the number of emotions his face would cycle through. You could try joking with him.”

“I do,” Keith insisted. “But he always just gets angry.” 

Pidge was quiet for a moment. “When have you ever joked with him?”

“Just ten minutes ago! I thought you were smart, Pidge.”

She glared at him. “I am, you ass.”

“He just took it as an insult,” Keith continued. “As usual.”

“Or, you know. It didn’t sound remotely like a joke.”

“Yes it did!”

“Keith,” Pidge said. “If Lance said that to you, would you take it as a joke?”

“…” Keith shifted on his feet. “I guess not.”

Pidge threw her arms up. “Amazing! He understands!”

Keith sighed. “Okay, well. Then what am I supposed to do? I don’t make jokes like he does, and he doesn’t get the ones that I _can_ make.”

“You don’t _have_ to make jokes,” Pidge said. “It was just a suggestion. And apparently you’ve already been making them, one of which just culminated in Lance storming out of the room, so, maybe scrap that idea.”

Keith flopped on the couch next to the one Pidge was sitting on. He closed his eyes and pretended that the rest of the team was still there, still briefly transfixed in a state of social harmony. It was a rare feat to accomplish, but it was always nice. And as usual, his and Lance’s fighting had ruined it. “Social interaction is so stupid.”

“Hear hear,” Pidge said in sympathy and turned back to her laptop.

-

“I hate his stupid face so much!”

Keith stilled; he could hear muffled shouts coming from Lance’s room, which was incidentally right next to his own where he had been heading. 

“Calm down, dude.” A quieter voice; Hunk. “What if he like, hears you or something?”

“Then let him.” Lance’s voice was cold, inexorable. It sounded so unlike him that Keith wondered if it was really him in that room. Voice switching to bitter, he said, “It’s nothing he doesn’t already know.”

Keith averted his eyes. Even staring at the closed door felt weirdly intimate. He knew if he opened his own door, though, the sound would alert Lance and Hunk of his presence. He hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop, but Lance was just so goddamn loud, as usual. And yeah, he knew how much Lance hated him. That stupid, childish rivalry that had spawned from a time Keith hardly remembered and had only strengthened in intensity since their discovery of Voltron. He really didn’t mind the notion of a rivalry, but would rather share it with someone who didn’t actively despise his existence. He had thought the banter between the two had been edging on friendlier lately, but Lance’s heated words were enough to prove otherwise.

“You could just tell him,” Hunk said, and Keith wondered how much content he had missed while distracted. 

“Why would I do that!” Lance sounded distressed. “Hunk, buddy. You’re supposed to be on my team.”

“I am! We all are. Team Voltron, right? Or wait, did you mean you, me, and Pidge? Or are we talking just us?”

“Oh my God, forget it,” Lance said, but he was laughing. He was calming down at least, it seemed. Keith wondered if he and Lance would ever get to the point where he could relax Lance with a few jokes and random conversation. Considering Lance hated him, though, it seemed unlikely. 

The two seemed to quickly progress into conversing about a new topic, ripe with Hunk’s clever puns and Lance’s dramatic voice. Keith lingered a bit too close to Lance’s door, staring at it as though his gaze would be able to permeate it, to observe how Lance sat, how he held his shoulders when absolutely relaxed. And that was a weird train of thought that Keith didn’t know what to make of, so he dutifully shooed it away. 

Maybe it was best if he just returned to where Pidge was, or made his way to the training deck. It was obvious that there was no quiet means of slipping into his room. He stood awkwardly, unsure how to gauge the social situation and the potential consequences of his ensuing actions. Normally he would rely on impulse, consequences be damned, but Pidge’s words were holding him back, grasping and clutching at his chest, stilling his eager legs and making it impossible to move. He wasn’t particularly interested in starting another fight—he hadn’t even been in the first place, but his goals and his outcomes never aligned nicely when Lance was involved—but in all honesty he wasn’t sure how to bypass one. It was almost second nature to fall back into a bout of snarky comments and cruel eye gestures.

He huffed; this was why he relied on instinct. Dwelling on his thoughts and planning just gave time for the enemy—not that Lance was an enemy, more his comments a minefield of confusion and ambiguity—to take advantage of the hesitation. Lance did that sometimes, leapt into an insult when Keith didn’t acknowledge his prior words. 

The door sprung open and Keith took a quick step backwards, hands finding the wall. Hunk appeared, his expression morphing into one of surprise after taking note of Keith’s presence. 

“Oh, hey,” Hunk said, somehow not deterred by the abnormality of the situation. Since he was best friends with Lance, though, he was probably used to it. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“See who?” A voice—Lance—called out eagerly from the room. “Princess? Is that you?”

“My room is right next door,” Keith said quietly, not sure how else to respond. He was not about to admit that he had just been standing there for the past ten minutes, doing nothing. Even in his head it sounded creepy. 

Hunk was gently pushed aside to reveal a now disinterested looking Lance. He looked Keith up and down thoroughly, as though there would be a difference within the short amount of time they had been apart. Keith watched Lance swallow thickly. “Oh, Mullet.”

Hunk glanced warily over to Keith, tensed with preparation for another fight to materialize. Keith couldn’t blame him. 

He took in an expression from Lance, who was beginning to look puzzled with the growing silence. 

“Uh,” Keith started. He thought back to his discussion with Pidge. “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.”

He had rushed through the joke—if he could really call it that—so quickly that he wasn’t convinced the two had even gathered what he was trying to say. Hunk offered him a confused but supportive look. Lance stared back at him blankly, his eyes unreadable. He didn’t look amused, but he didn’t look annoyed, either, so this conversation was already more successful than the one in the lounge. Maybe there was a third part of the joke that Keith had never heard? He’d have to ask Shiro later. The uncomfortable silence dragged on, consuming Keith’s confidence and spitting it out into space. Hunk scratched his neck. 

“Never mind,” Keith muttered. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea in the first place? He’d never trust Pidge’s advice again; her motives existed purely out of spite and a bottomless appetite for entertainment. “Bye.”

He walked a few feet to the right and headed into his room. The door whizzed shut behind him, relieving him from the conversation. He closed his eyes and held back a groan; he had never once felt so uncomfortable in his life, and it was clear his teammates were in a similar boat.

He could hear Hunk and Lance’s reactions faintly behind the door.

“I think Keith is broken,” Lance said. He sounded pensive, a tone Keith had never heard from him before. “I call dibs on his Lion!”

“Aww.”

Giving a reluctant, amused huff at Lance’s words, Keith stepped away from the door. Of course Lance would focus on that and not the joke. Considering the lack of humor in the joke, though, perhaps that was for the best. Keith sat on his bed, wishing more than ever that he had a book with him. It was tough, sometimes, being stuck in space with only the belongings he had had on him when the five of them had found Blue. There was always the training deck, but Keith didn’t dare head back out of his room until he could no longer hear Hunk and Lance. Their voices were distant, but still present. The only other options he really had during his off time were talking to the others—which, no thanks at the moment—or performing some mundane action like sleeping or showering. And in the absence of all of that, he was left with his thoughts. 

Normally he tried to busy his mind with fighting strategies or thoughts about Voltron. He didn’t like to think about the Garrison or his past, regardless of how much his brain apparently wanted to. The thoughts always brought about a certain squeeze of pain to his chest, as though his ribs were constricted with tight bandages, their intentions nobel but execution hellish. His knife seemed to buzz in his pocket with energy, urging him to observe it. He had spent so much time, though, so much anger and sadness on it, that he didn’t want to confront it. Not today. Heobstinately pushed the thoughts back, beginning a desperate searching for another topic to lock onto.

Lance.

Of course it had to be him—it always had to be him, always _was_ him. This time around, Keith allowed his groan to be audible. 

“Oh quiznak!” Keith stilled; were the two of them really still there? Didn’t they have anything better to do than stand around outside of a door? Keith pointedly didn’t think of his own actions just moments ago; his had been more out of self preservation than a lack of reason. “Did you hear that? I think Keith is having some _fun_ if you know what I mean.”

Hunk let out a tormented noise. “Lance, dude, why would you even say that? Oh man, you’re going to make me picture it. Oh God I’m already picturing it!”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Get away from my door!”

Lance snickered. “Okay, buddy. We’ll let you have your alone time. C’mon Hunk, I’m starving.”

Their voices tapered off slowly, Lance’s amusement still noticeably evident in his tone. Keith was soon left alone in his room, the air quiet and his hands clenched. He could still hear Lance’s candid laughter running through his head like a tape.

God, he really wanted to punch Lance in the face. 

-

Dinner wasn’t much better. Hunk couldn’t even look in Keith’s direction—thanks Lance—and Lance was sending furtive glances his way. Keith considered it stupid, as the two were sitting side by side. It was easy enough to simply see the other through peripheral vision, but Lance had never been one to be subtle; with him, it was all or none. At one point, Keith caught Lance staring and forced himself to maintain steady eye contact. Lance blinked twice, tensed his shoulders, and swallowed before plastering on a grin and mimicking a hand-job. Keith pursed his lips, his hands clutching the table to prevent him from sending back his own crude gesture. 

The table fell silent.

“Uh,” Shiro said. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that and ask you to keep that to your room, Lance.”

Lance’s face blanched. “No—I. It was Keith—!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Pidge intercepted. “It’s not like we didn’t all expect it, but keep that to yourself, man.”

Keith let out a short laugh. Lance sent him a heated glare, only making him laugh more.

Shiro looked pained and like he wanted to say something, but didn’t want to encourage the situation. Hunk was determinedly eating his food as fast as possible to escape the conversation. 

“Is this some sort of Earth joke?” Allura didn’t sound impressed.

“Don’t worry about it, Princess,” Shiro said quietly. “It’s not important. Right, Lance?”

Lance broke out of his scowling match with Keith—who was losing due to the hilarity he found in the situation. “Oh, yeah. Not important at all. Just something I overheard Keith talking about.”

And Keith rolled his eyes at that, because _of course_ Lance would shift the blame to him. “Sure, Lance, whatever.”

“This is all your fault!” Lance jumped up and jabbed an accusing finger at Keith. Keith offered him a blank, expressionless stare. “You were the one who—who…”

“Really?” Pidge said, gesturing toward her food goo. “Right in front of my salad?”

Hunk let his face fall into his hands. “Why is everyone giving me the worst mental images today?”

Lance pursed his lips and left the room. 

Keith frowned; that was the second time in one day. It wasn’t like Lance to leave in the midst of an argument, and especially not during dinner—despite how gross the food goo was. And both times it had been the subject of Keith that had worked him up enough to storm out. Keith hadn’t forgotten what Lance mentioned earlier in the day, but he hadn’t realized that Lance hated him so zealously. It left a dull pinch of hurt in his lungs, sucking up his breath and leaving him aching. On most accounts he didn’t care what others thought of him, but Lance was a part of Voltron and…well, Keith would have liked to have said a friend, but that option now seemed long past its expiration date, gone by without Keith having even realized the opportunity fading away. Worse, even, he thought the two were growing closer. 

He fiddled with his fork, acutely aware of the fact that everyone’s gaze had shifted to him following Lance’s hasty departure. “I, uh. I’ll go after him.”

He heard Pidge and Shiro say something, but he was already out of the room, nearly jogging down the hall. Lance wouldn't be at the training deck, meaning he was likely in his room. Keith loitered outside the door for a minute, the situation reminding him far too much of earlier in the day—of the moments prior to the situation that led to the dinner outburst. Eventually, he forced himself to knock on the door. 

There was a pause before footsteps neared and a muffled voice called out, “Go away, Hunk. I’m not—”

Keith shifted on his feet, bracing for an explosion.

The door slid open and Lance’s eyebrows flew up his face. “Oh.”

“Hey,” Keith said awkwardly, caught off guard by the lack of anger but not displeased by it. “Can I come in?”

Lance hesitated before shrugging him off and walking back inside. “Yeah, sure.”

Keith followed him in and glanced around the room, taking in the simple decor and various messes. Clothes were tossed sporadically throughout the room and jumbles of bottles cluttered the desk. It felt homely, and Keith thought distantly of his own, barren room.

Lance was staring at him expectantly, which made sense seeing that Keith had actively sought him out. 

Keith took a deep breath. “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.”

Painful, agonizing silence. 

Lance furrowed his eyebrows. “Was _that_ what you were saying earlier? Dude, that’s like, the oldest joke in existence. Are you sure you’re part Garla and not part Caveman?”

Keith huffed. “We can’t all be good at jokes like you.”

An incredulous laugh escaped Lance. “You hate my jokes.” 

Keith shrugged. “I don’t always get them, but I don’t hate them.”

Another silence fell upon the two. Keith kicked his boot against the floor. 

“So,” Lance said. “Did Shiro force you to come out here?”

Keith frowned. “No. Why would he do that?”

“Oh.” Lance sat down on his bed. “I don’t know. So, you got any jokes from this millennium?”

Keith smiled. “Why was six afraid of seven?”

Lance groaned loudly and flopped onto his back, spreading his arms out wide. His arms were long—so stretched thin, but in perfect proportion to his tall, lean body. Keith tried not to stare. “Keith, buddy. You’re killing me.”

The use of ‘buddy’ stretched Keith’s smile wider. He sat down next to Lance on the bed, leaving a large berth between his hand and Lance’s relaxed arm, not wanting to shatter what felt like a fragile illusion. 

“What do you call a fake noodle?”

“ _Dude_ , you’re worse than my grandma.” Lance looked over at him, fond eyes crinkling from his broad grin. 

“What did one ocean say to the other?”

“Keith,” Lance managed through his laughter. One of his hands was resting on his chest as it heaved up and down, the other closer to Keith than he had remembered. 

“What does a clock do when it’s hungry?”

Lance snickered and was about to retort when the door opened.

“Lance! I wasn’t sure if—Oh.”

Keith schooled his giddy expression into a more neutral one, tearing his gaze away from Lance. Lance shifted on his bed, leaning up on his elbows and smiling gently at Hunk.

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?”

“Uh, I was just gonna check on you,” Hunk said, eyes darting between the two. “But never mind! You two seem cool. Anyway, Pidge wanted me to double check her calculations on Jartex’s gravitational pull in regards to its shifting mass so I’m going to go do that, bye!”

Lance blinked as Hunk hurried off. “Like I’m going to understand any of that!”

He turned to Keith and shrugged, unfazed. He lie back on his bed, eyes closed and body at ease as he rested his head on his hands. He seemed remarkably insouciant at the notion of Keith just sitting in the room, having no real purpose in being there. Even relaxed enough to keep his guard down, to allow his vision to be momentarily relinquished. Keith flexed his fingers, counting the lines on his hands that appeared before realizing something. 

He frowned. “Since when has Pidge needed anyone to double check _anything_ for her?”

“Mmmm?” Lance’s voice was drenched with sleep, low and rough. His eyelids fluttered as though tempted to open, though they remained firmly shut.

Keith let his eyes wander over Lance’s face. His skin was smooth, no visible wrinkles anywhere. His lips were turned up slightly, not quite a smile but almost. He looked surprisingly peaceful, resting as though none of the day’s prior events had even come close to occurring. At the time being, it was almost reminiscent of the since unspoken bonding moment. Keith felt a flicker of want surging to his chest, a warm curling feel goading him to enclose Lance’s twitching hand in his own, to coil his calloused fingers around Lance’s smooth, soft ones and squeeze. Keith swallowed nervously, slipping his hands underneath his thighs to discourage the train of thought. He couldn’t entirely explain how he felt while he observed Lance. It was a cacophony of curiosity, confusion, and want. 

He looked down at his feet, not wanting to acknowledge the growing flush of his face. There was no logic to his emotions, no reasonable explanation to be so drawn to someone who hated him. Supposedly hated him, though. As much as he didn’t want to foster false hope, he couldn’t conjure any rationale for Lance letting him in his room, laughing at his unfunny jokes, and appearing comfortable enough to sleep in his company. When he ran the interactions through his head, he couldn’t imagine a universe where Lance actually, honestly hated him. But maybe he had just spent too much time with Slav.

The conclusion was readily welcomed, though. He looked at Lance and saw a teammate, someone who he could trust, a friend. His heart stuttered a bit as his mind flashed to partner, its existence so short-lived that Keith found himself doubting it had even crossed his mind. 

He didn’t want to think about it now, though, his mind weary and his chest sick of the lurching feeling that had been constant since the mission. He needed to clear his head, return his thoughts to Voltron and how they could corner Lotor. The training deck would serve as more productive than staring at a sleeping Lance, anyway. And far less awkward to explain if found by others.

He spared one last look at Lance, smiling softly. He stood up and quietly made his way to the door. “Goodnight, sharpshooter.” 

~ Two Weeks Ago ~

 

“Paladins assemble!” Allura’s frantic voice rang out in the halls. “Lotor is attacking the left wing of the Castle!”

Keith leapt from his bed and ran to the command center where Allura, Coran, and Shiro were already situated. Lance soon followed, face pale with unease. He looked to Keith quickly, appearing surprised when their eyes met. Keith gave him a nod of acknowledgement, to which Lance tightened his expression and offered his own short nod in return. Pidge and Hunk trailed in after a few ticks. 

“Activate the particle barrier, Coran,” Allura ordered. “He’s too close for us to fire without hitting the Castle; we’ll have to form Voltron to take him out.”

Coran turned to the controls. “On it, Princess! We’ll be more protected than a Webblefoot whose norzit has been tuned to a dobosh!”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to say,” Hunk said as he watched the shield encircle the Castle.

“This is an opening for us,” Shiro said. “He’s come to our domain this time, and we’re more prepared. It’s just him we have to defeat—and then we can direct our focus to Zarkon’s ship while he’s out of commission.”

“I don’t trust it,” Keith said. Everyone turned to him. “Last time we thought he was alone he almost got away with the cargo ship. I don’t think he’s really alone this time, either.”

“I agree,” Lance said.

Keith, surprised, offered Lance a small smile.

“That may be,” Shiro said. “But we can’t let Lotor do more damage to the ship. The barrier won’t hold forever.”

“So what,” Pidge said. “Are we attacking or not? I might be able to hack into his system to gather his ship’s archetype and search the nearby area for similar systems to see what kind of numbers we’re dealing with. But I can only do it if he flies close enough, and the barrier’s blocking him for now.” 

“Get to the lions,” Keith said. “Allura, Lance, distract Lotor and keep him away from the Castle. Pidge, see if you can hack into his system—Allura and Lance will guide him close enough to you. Hunk, keep an eye out for any additional ships and offer secondary support for Pidge.”

“Got it,” Pidge said. The four ran off.

Keith lingered in the command center, eyeing Shiro. “Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have just taken over.”

Shiro granted him a kind smile and clapped a steady hand on his shoulder. He felt grounded, secured. “You brought up a good point. Unfortunately, we’re short on time.”

“Did you want to pilot the Black Lion?”

“Keith,” Shiro said and his voice was full of fondness but also exasperation. It seemed to be a common trend nowadays, his weary eyes and fatigued words. Keith wanted to talk to him, to coax the nightmares and flashbacks out of him, but he knew better. Shiro was a stubborn man, and pushing him to talk wouldn’t help anyone. Keith just had to be there, as a constant peripheral reminder that he was willing to listen when Shiro was ready to talk. “It’s chosen _you_. I trust your leadership. Go defeat Lotor.”

“Uhm, hello?” Lance’s voice trickled out from the comms. “Now’s not the time to be slacking off, Keith! We need you and your stupid mullet out here shooting stuff.”

Keith rolled his eyes, smiling. He sent Shiro a fleeting, grateful look before he donned his helmet and raced toward the Black Lion—his Lion. “Didn’t think you’d miss me this much.”

“I see it more as Stockholm Syndrome,” Lance fired back, but there was an obvious lack of venom to it, an extension of some previously obscured olive branch. Keith clung to the proverbial truce desperately, prepared to respond but beaten to it by Pidge.

“I’m surprised you know a term with that many syllables,” Pidge said. 

“Paladins, focus,” Shiro said lightly. “There’ll be plenty of time to make fun of Lance once Lotor is defeated.”

Lance groaned. “Not you too, Shiro! This is just as bad as that mission on Puiga.”

Hunk offered his contribution: “I’m with you, bro!”

Lance was beaming; Keith just _knew_ despite not being able to see his face. Being on a team, being constantly surrounded by a select few—it altered observation abilities, like allowing Keith to blindly know Lance’s expressions. “I knew I could count on you, buddy!”

“Am I the only one actually doing anything?” Allura fired another shot at Lotor, who dutifully evaded it. “Keith? Some support, please?”

“Of course,” Keith said easily and headed in Allura’s direction. “His flying is…off.”

“I noticed it too,” Allura said. “But I just can’t put my finger on _what_ it is that’s different.”

“Maybe the dude’s just having an off day?” Lance popped up aside Keith and fired his laser. It clipped the edge of Lotor’s left wing, though the Prince was able to shake it off soon after. 

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Hunk said. “It’s like that moment right before a jump-scare in a horror movie where the music gets all quiet and everything feels off.”

Lotor wasn’t alone. 

“I’m tracking a second ship!” Pidge called out. “It’s coming in fast from the North quadron—I need backup.”

“On it,” Keith said and swerved to dodge a shot from Lotor. He flew toward Pidge, flanking her left side and firing at the hastily approaching ship. It dogged impeccably, and Keith ground his teeth in a combination of concentration and frustration. “Shiro, Coran, how are you two holding up?”

“Doing fine,” Shiro said. “You want any extra air support?”

“Please, we’ve totally got this,” Lance said. “Oh quiznak!”

Keith faintly heard the tinny scraping sound of metal against metal. “Lance, you okay there?”

“Just giving Lotor the ol’ razzle dazzle!”

“Lance! Pay attention,” Allura said. She swooped in next to him, matching his now slowed speed. “We’re losing him!”

“Sorry, Princess, but this guy’s insane if he thinks he’s going to outfly Red!”

Lance surged forward, nearly touching the tail of Lotor’s ship within seconds. Lotor dropped suddenly, causing Lance to almost crash into Hunk.

“Sorry buddy!”

“Uh, guys?”

“What is it, Hunk?” Keith fired a few beams at the secondary ship, trying to force the two ships into an overlapping vicinity; it was always easier to attack when all of Voltron was nearby. The ship zipped around his shots, doubling back and sending its own lasers.

“We’ve got company,” Hunk said.

“What kind of numbers are we talking?” Keith asked.

“In the realm of, oh I don’t know, we’re going to die?”

“I don’t get it,” Pidge said quietly. “They didn’t show up on the tracker at all—what is this kind of ship Lotor’s using? It’s nothing resembling any of the Galra tech we’ve encountered so far.”

“The Quintessence!” Allura said. “He must have a bigger amount than what we knew belonged to the Galra empire. This can’t be good. I’ve seen what Zarkon has done with his limited resource. There’s no telling what kind of destruction Lotor can cause if he has more!”

“Zarkon,” Keith murmured. “I should have known.”

Hunk’s face popped up on the screen. “Should we fall back?”

“We can’t let Lotor escape again,” Keith said. “We’ll focus him. Everyone, form Voltron!”

“We’ve got you covered from here,” Shiro said. “We’ll target the fighter jets.”

“Thanks, Shiro,” Keith said. “Hunk, ready the shoulder cannon.”

“Already ahead of you, man,” Hunk said and plunged his bayard into its key hole.

Voltron’s cannon materialized quickly, powering up a strong charge and aiming it at the position in space Lotor was about to occupy. It hit dead on, prompting an ecstatic cheer from Lance and Hulk as a small explosion formed. Keith let a small, relieved smile fall onto his face.

“Nice job, everyone!” Allura said.

Voltron flew toward the cloud of debris, only to arrive just in time to watch Lotor’s secondary ship swoop in and board him before bolting off into the distance.

Keith blinked in disbelief, slamming his fists down on the control panel. “We _had_ him!”

“It’s okay, Keith,” Lance said quietly when no one else had dared speak. Keith was surprised by his lack of desire to snap back a sharp, retaliative retort, to pinpoint and dwell on their mistakes. Instead, he felt a twinge of calmness vibrate throughout him. The rest of the team appeared to be just as surprised, if their raised brows and furtive glances between Lance and Keith were anything to go off of.

Shiro cleared his throat. “Lance is right. We couldn’t have predicted that. We’ll just have to adapt.”

“The ship’s already gone,” Pidge said, unable to bite back a bitter edge to her tone. “It’s not showing up on the tracker anymore. Zarkon’s ships are heading off, too. I’m only locating twelve of the fighter jets.”

Keith grimaced. If so few ships remained, it meant they were cannon fodder—no more than a viable distraction for Zarkon to escape unharmed. “Fine. Let’s head back to the Castle.”

Shiro greeted them with a sympathetic expression, but Keith wasn’t interested in debriefing. He headed straight toward the training deck, mind narrowed to only allow thoughts of simulation levels. He was about to turn a second corner when a hand on his arm stopped him. 

Keith turned slightly. “Lance?”

“Hey, man,” Lance said. He squeezed Keith’s arm gently. “It really is okay, you know? We’ll get them.”

Keith sighed, his shoulders dropping. “Yeah, it—yeah. It just doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“With you as our leader? They don’t stand a chance.”

Keith smiled. Lance returned the expression and dropped his hand. Keith’s arm suddenly felt empty, and his hand twitched with an impulsive urge to reach out and seek Lance’s warmth.

“So, you going to train?”

Keith shrugged. “I need to be ready for anything. There might be a time when I need to fight Lotor face to face. It’s like Shiro said; we need to adapt.”

Lance nodded. “I’ll join you.”

“You will?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised, Mullet. I do train, you know.”

“Could have fooled me,” Keith teased.

“Just because you basically live in the training deck—”

“I’m joking,” Keith said softly. “It’ll be nice to practice some teamwork.”

Lance’s scowl immediately turned to a grin. “Yeah, we’re a good team.”

-

“You know,” Lance drawled. “You don’t need to actually live in the training deck.”

Keith paused, springing to his feet from a duck and roll he had begun. “End simulation.” He turned to Lance, who was standing in the doorway, studying him closely. Keith wondered how long he had been there, saying nothing. “I don’t. What are you doing here?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “I was about to ask you that. It’s like, 1 AM, dude.”

Keith frowned; the last he remembered it had been a quarter past eight. “That can’t be right.”

“Space-clocks are never wrong,” Lance said, pointing to one that hung proudly above the left wall, having been added by Coran after Lance complained that there was no documentable evidence of him beating Keith’s maze time. Of course, there was no actual instance of Lance beating his time, either, but he had conveniently left that point absent.

“That doesn’t even have human numbers on it,” Keith said.

“Never wrong!”

Keith felt his lips involuntarily tug upwards. “So what brings you here at this hour?”

Lance blanched and his eyes darted down. He rubbed the back of his neck, his long sleeves sliding down his wrist and revealing a small patch of tanned skin. Keith’s eyes fixated on it, not used to seeing Lance’s skin other than his face and hands. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“So you decided to train?”

Lance mustered a cocky grin and his infamous finger guns. “Like I need the practice! You saw how I hit Lotor’s ship earlier today.”

Keith stayed quiet. Considering the late hour and Lance’s previously melancholic expression, he didn’t think it was a good time for ribbing or joking. He didn’t really know what to say, though, to placate Lance. He was never very good at going in depth with feelings.

Lance’s face fell at Keith’s indirect dismissal, and Keith inwardly flinched. “Well, I just figured you’d be up, too.”

“Yeah?” Keith started unstrapping his gloves, figuring it was too late to continue training in good conscience—at least for Shiro’s sake; Keith had already been chastised by him about pushing himself.

Lance’s eyes darted to follow Keith’s movements, prompting an unusual bout of insecurity to ripple through him. Lance seemed to be remarkably into varying beauty products, and Keith was acutely aware of how calloused and scarred his hands were under his gloves; Lance was probably disgusted by it. “I…”

“Yeah?” Keith repeated, figuring the response was as good as any. Lance hadn’t shied away from his urging for clarification, and so the method held growing potential. 

“I may have knocked on your door,” Lance admitted, sounding so much meeker than Keith thought possible. It didn’t fit him, his tone usually so self assured and cocky. “And you’re a really light sleeper, so I figured you were probably out here since it’s really the only other place you ever are. Which meant you were awake. Duh. And since _I_ was awake—”

“Lance,” Keith interrupted. He stuffed his gloves in his pocket and made his way over to Lance. “Did you want to talk about anything?”

Lance blinked. “I…uhm. Not really. I was just going to watch you train or whatever to distract my head.”

“Oh.”

“But I don’t have to! Uh, I’ll just go back to bed or whatever.”

“We can just sit here,” Keith said, gesturing toward the steps that led in and out of the training deck. There weren’t any other real spots to sit, and he didn’t feel much like traveling all the way to the common area when it was so late. “I’m not really that tired myself.”

Lance sat down on the step, Keith quickly following. Lance fiddled with his hands before stealing a glance at Keith, his eyes eagerly searching for trust while looking unsure on how to respond once it was found. “I don’t have to talk, right?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Keith said easily. “I’m… not very good with talking myself.”

“You’re saying that like I’m supposed to be surprised or something.” Lance tried, unsuccessfully, to dodge a friendly punch from Keith. “Oww, dude! Your knuckles are so bony, Christ. I’m going to make Hunk force-feed you one day.” 

“His food is good,” Keith said. “I wouldn’t mind eating some of that instead of this food goo.”

“Yeah…you should see my cooking, though! I’m a bonafide Rachel Ray.”

Keith blinked. “Who?”

“Ugh, right. You’re culturally stunted. Don’t worry, I’m sure Pidge can find a way to hook up Earth television to this ship sooner or later.”

“No thanks,” Keith said. “I don’t even want to think about what kind of shows Coran would enjoy.”

Lance shuddered. “You’re right, he’d probably force us all to binge watch Gilmore Girls or something.” At Keith’s blank glance, he sighed. “It’s like you lived under a rock.”

“Or in a desert,” Keith said dryly. 

Lance smiled. “Or that. But really! My mom taught me how to make these garlic knots when I was just a little kid. They were basically all I wanted to eat until the age of thirteen, heh. She’d refuse to make them for me after a while though because they weren’t nutritious, so I perfected the recipe over time. I wasn’t going to let anyone keep me from that delicious, garlicky dough. I make ‘em better than her now, even, but she’ll never admit it.”

Keith wasn’t sure what to say, so he just kept observing Lance, watching the way his eyes lit up whenever he mentioned his mother, how he chuckled lightly telling the story, and how his posture held a certain despondency to it whenever he seemed to remember where he actually was sitting—far, far away from Earth. 

Lance looked over at him, searching for a particular reaction. When Keith failed to provide him with it, he sighed and dropped his shoulders. Keith frowned; apparently saying nothing was somehow worse than teasing. He didn’t understand how that was even remotely possible. “Sorry for rambling, that was probably really boring to hear.”

“It’s kind of nice,” Keith admitted. “I don’t really have many memories of my…family. Yours sounds really fun to be around.”

Lance hugged his knees and smiled softly. “Yeah, they’re great. There’s a lot of them, but it means no one ever has to be alone.”

He stared past the training deck and to the large window at the end. Keith unknowingly followed his gaze, watching the emptiness of space.

“It’s pretty quiet here, sometimes,” Lance said. He sounded so dejected and Keith was struck with panic, not knowing how to remedy his suffering but wanting to, so desperately wanting to. “I’m not used to it. I’ll wake up and take my headphones off, prepared to hear my mom calling all of us for breakfast or Riza begging me to drive her to the mall for the third time that week. And sometimes Allura calls for us to form Voltron, but a lot of times it’s just silence.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith eventually said, voice quiet as though not to scare Lance off. He figured saying it was better than nothing.

Lance shrugged flatly. “You don’t have to apologize. I know it’s kind of stupid. I mean, I’m a paladin of Voltron—can you imagine how many people would kill for that? And then I’m just here, complaining about missing Earth.”

“It’s not stupid,” Keith said. “I’d probably feel the same, but there’s not really much on Earth for me. I mainly just spent time with Shiro, and I’m fortunate enough to have him here so things aren’t all that different. I can’t imagine what it would be like without him, though. He’s been kind of like a brother to me.”

Lance sniffed. “I miss my brothers. Even Marco who never shared his video games with me.”

Keith glanced down at his lap, feeling more and more out of his element with each passing second. Fighting, he was good at; there were only so many ways battles could end: he either won, lost, or tied. Emotions were so fickle, though, so capable of arbitrarily switching on a dime from as little as a single word. 

His hesitation turned out to be the wrong move, though. Lance sniffled once last time before scrambling to a standing position. “Anyway, uhm. I’m super tired now, so yeah, I’m going to head to bed. Night, Keith.”

And he practically ran off, leaving Keith sitting alone on the step. Keith sighed, feeling as though he had missed something vitally important.

 

~ One Week Ago ~

 

Lotor still hadn’t launched a retaliatory attack.

“He has to be planning something,” Keith said, words directed really at anyone who was willing to listen. He, Lance, Pidge, and Coran were all situated in the common area after a group training exercise. Keith still struggled to feel fully comfortable as the leader, and Allura had insisted that he would be more open to it if they participated in another mind link session. It was somewhat successful the second time around, and so Allura eventually took pity on their weary gazes and absolved them of the exercise.

“He who?” Lance asked. He was sprawled out on the couch next to Keith, one leg over the back of it as he so regularly did. He looked over to Keith, extending him a smile, a pointed affirmation that he was listening and an encouragement for Keith to continue talking. Keith’s expression softened unwittingly as he shifted his body to better face Lance.

“Lotor,” Keith said, the name catching Coran’s attention.

“Are you still planning an attack on him?” Coran asked. “It’s been such a quiet week one would almost think he’s given up all together! Though Zarkon’s 10,000 year reign rather contradicts that possibility.”

“I’m the leader, aren’t I? That’s my job,” Keith said. “I can’t let us end up caught off guard again—he’s used that against us every time and _it keeps working_.”

“Nope,” Lance said and poked Keith’s nose with his pointer finger. Keith scowled at him, though the glare held little actual heat. “Your job is to take a break from obsessing over this dude. Right, Pidge?”

“Hmm? Sure, Lance,” Pidge said, not giving so much as a glance from over her laptop screen. Keith was convinced that one day she was going to need more than just glasses to see. Knowing her, though, she’d invent some new form of visual aid. “Just don’t touch any of my stuff.”

“See? Pidge agrees.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time to take a break. Remember what Shiro said earlier? Lotor could attack at any point.”

“Yeah, he could,” Lance said. “Which is why we can’t have you being constantly high strung and on edge. You’re going to burn yourself out, man. It’s got to be exhausting never relaxing.”

Keith shifted on the couch, uncomfortable with discussing such a topic while so many others were around. Pidge wasn’t exactly paying attention, but she could be like a shark finding blood when particular conversations arose. And Coran’s interest seemed to pique whenever Voltron was involved. Fortunately, Lance was considerably more observant than Keith and seemed to catch onto his reluctance.

“Let’s go swimming!” Lance said, and that was that; when Lance’s mind was made up, he would move Heaven and Earth to make it happen. This time around, however, he only needed to move Keith. He sprung off the couch and tugged on Keith’s closest hand. “I’ll let you race against me, even though we know you’re no match for me.”

Keith fought back a smile. “Is that so?”

“ _Incredibly_ so,” Lance said confidently. “Right, Pidge?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Lance beamed and Keith laughed. 

“Okay, Mr. Hot Shot,” Keith said. “I’m holding you to that.”

Evidently, Lance hadn’t been lying. He was an incredible swimmer, apt at changing course almost instantaneously and holding his head underwater for longer than Keith thought physically possible. Keith flung his head up from the water, staring at Lance, impressed. He had pushed himself considerably during the race and was still coming out a good twenty seconds after Lance.

“Huh,” he said, breathless, pushing his dripping bangs out of his eyes.

“I told you!” Lance said, performing a short victory dance. “I’m like, Godly when it comes to swimming. I bet I could beat Shiro, too. And whatever robotic contraption Pidge would definitely make to try to beat me.”

Keith smiled. 

Lance blinked, pausing for a moment. He quickly recovered and laid down his towel, draping himself across it, long limbs sprawled out in all directions. His chest rose slowly, showing no signs of him having just swam multiple laps. “I wish this place had sand, you know?”

“It’s a pool, Lance.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I have eyes, stupid. I just miss the beach. It was always really nice to relax in the hot sand after being in the cold water.”

“I’ve never been to the beach,” Keith admitted, sitting down on his own towel.

“Seriously? Keith, buddy, are you even real? I’m starting to reconsider the validity of your desert story. I’m now more convinced than ever that you were actually living under a rock.” Lance sighed and closed his eyes. “Thank God we saved you from that television-less, beach-less life.”

“We don’t have those out here in space, either,” Keith pointed out. He didn’t really mind, though; he couldn’t find it in himself to miss something he had never experienced in the first place. The concepts were more ofa distant, hazy sketch in his mind, always just too far out of reach to grasp, not dissimilar to the distance between his towel and Lance’s towel. “And for the record, you were literally inside my house after we rescued Shiro.”

“Yeah, well.” Lance peeked one eye open and stared at Keith, eyes soft. “When we get back to Earth I’ll take you to the beach. And show you Rachel Ray and garlic knots.”

“That’d be nice,” Keith said quietly. It really would. 

“And you can show me cacti and camels!”

Keith shoved Lance’s shoulder. “We’ve got plenty of your sand in the desert.” 

Lance grinned up at him. “And not much else. You gonna go back there when all this is over?”

Keith shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“What do you mean by that?

Keith hesitated. “I mean exactly what I said. There’s a war going on—we’re not particularly in a prime position for thinking that far ahead. So much changes even day to day—hour to hour. I’d go mad trying to make sure everything happened the way I had envisioned, not to mention the amount of danger we face on a daily basis. Each mission there’s no promise we’ll even make it back to the Castle, let alone Earth. I’d rather not plan for what might not happen.”

“We’re going to make it back,” Lance said firmly. “And nothing you say or do can make me think otherwise.”

“Lance…”

“Don’t!” Lance sat up, shooting a glare at Keith. “Don’t say my name with that tone. You’re using it like—like I’m some five year old who’s talking fairy tales. This is my _life_ , Keith. I’d like to think that I have a lot of it left to spend on Earth.”

Keith stayed quiet; there wasn’t much he could say to that without the risk of inadvertently offending Lance.

Lance ran a hand through his damp hair. “Sometimes the thought of going back to Earth is all that keeps me going. I _know_ we’re in war, and I _know_ things look grim. But I am NOT going out before I get a hug from my mom or eat another garlic knot. And you can’t until you have that, either.”

“Okay,” Keith said gently. 

Lance sighed and went to lie back down. “It’s just…surreal. This isn’t how I expected things to go.”

“No one could have expected this,” Keith said. “The Galra, Voltron, Lotor. There’s a lot going on that just doesn’t seem possible, even now while we’re living it.”

Lance was quiet for a moment. “Have you ever played a video game?”

“That’s uh. How is that relevant.”

Lance laughed. “I’m just curious, man. So?”

“No,” Keith said, and maybe there was a lot he had missed out on—more than he considered. Maybe Lance would show him video games, too. “I don’t know how I would play them without a television anyway.”

“Handheld,” Lance said. “But I’m betting you don’t know what those are, either.”

Keith shrugged.

“Marco never let me play his games, because he knew I’d decimate him,” Lance said. He chuckled lightly. “The first time we played I beat his score by 1,400; it was also the last time he let me play. I’ve always been good with hand-eye coordination. ’S why I can handle my bayard so well, I think. It’s almost second nature by this point—I bet I could hit a target with my eyes closed!”

Keith smiled at him.

Lance swallowed and coughed. “Did you practice fighting with a sword before Voltron?”

“My knife,” Keith said. “Yeah, but not a sword. It’s pretty similar, I’ve found. You just have to account for the different mass and you can stand a bit farther away from the enemy.”

“Makes sense,” Lance said. He donned a mischievous grin. “Race you back to the training deck?”

“You’re on.”

It was a tie.

-

Smiling had been statistically proven to be a good response to Lance’s bragging—and quiznak, when had he become Pidge? From what Keith had observed in the past few weeks, it had the added benefit of not causing any fights like insults and jokes did, and didn’t leave Lance’s expression wilting like staying quiet did. Maybe it was a bit cruel to simply smile, knowing it brought upon tense shoulders and nervous chuckles from Lance, but Keith couldn’t find it in himself to stop.

It was fascinating, really, how Lance responded to a mere smile. And Keith knew it wasn’t just any smile; no one else on the team ever made the same impression on Lance, even Allura. The realization had come so gradually, easing in like the gentle touch of a mother. And because of that, Keith had been somewhat prepared for the reality of the situation.

He liked Lance. He had known that for a while, the notion persistently pushed aside in favor of more pressing matters, but there nonetheless. It made sense, really; the frequent prolonged stares, the confusing feeling in his chest that he had once thought to be a muscle strain, the pure, raw _want_ that flooded throughout him whenever he had the serendipity to run his fingers across Lance’s arms or squeeze his shoulders as a personal promise of survival. It was overwhelming, sometimes, but not enough to distract him in the heat of the battle. The thoughts only consumed him late at night when all other distractions had conveniently disappeared.

It left the question of whether or not his feelings were reciprocated, though. Lance’s reactions to Keith’s smiles were undoubtedly a good sign, but not solid evidence. Keith wanted more assurance than awkward pauses and fidgeting limbs. And if smiling wasn’t quite enough to determine an answer, then Keith knew he had to try one more approach. Maybe the whole concept was childish, but it was the best way Keith knew how to go about it. After all, there was no one else in his universe—and others—who made him feel as ridiculously young and unsure as Lance did.

So he started agreeing with Lance’s gloating. 

 

~ Now ~

 

Lance’s voice cracked. “What?”

Keith swallowed, the extreme scrutiny of the rest of the team unnerving him. Most of all, though, the astonished, baffled look adorning Lance’s face was the most daunting of all. There were no signs of happiness or ardor, only surprise; Keith had calculated wrong, and that single realization was harrowing. “I said that you’re right; you’re the best with social situations and would be the right pick if we’re trying to establish diplomatic relations with Lonthra.”

Lance looked around at the rest of the group, head shifting wildly in the process. “Am I the only one hearing Keith compliment me?”

“I heard it too, bro,” Hunk said. “I mean, he’s not wrong. You’d get them on our side in like, seconds.”

“Then it’s decided,” Allura said, tone slightly off from Keith’s words. She looked concerned, as though they were all edging too close to postulatory flames, prodding a dormant anger that was wrought with irrevocable consequences. “Lance, you’ll be the one to discuss alliances with the Lonthrans. I trust you’re satisfied with this role?”

Lance blinked. “Uh, yeah, Princess. Got it. Totally satisfied. Keith—can, can I talk to you?”

Keith glanced at the ground. “I think I’m going to go train, actually.”

“Okay, great!” Lance’s voice was _so_ loud, echoing through the room. “I’ll go with you!”

And with that, Lance clutched Keith’s arm like a lifeline and sped the two out of the room. 

“Where. Are. You. Taking. Me!” Keith ground out as he watched the two pass the training deck. 

“My room,” Lance answered quickly. “It’s farther from the common area.”

Keith frowned. “Okay? And?”

Lance nearly crashed into his door out of impatience, just barely allowing it time to open fully. He flung the two inside and let go of Keith’s arm as though it had burnt him. Keith’s other hand flew to the spot Lance had clung to, fingers curling around his wrist. Lance’s eyes followed the movement before darting away. He swallowed thickly, his chest heaving with exertion despite the short distance. 

“Did you mean it.”

“Did I mean what?” Keith tried to catch Lance’s gaze, but he was adamant on avoiding eye contact.

“What you said back there, about the social stuff.”

“Yes?” Keith cleared his throat. “Why would I say it if I didn’t think it was true?”

Lance frowned, and the gesture looked so wrong on his face. Keith wanted to vanish it, wanted to smooth out the worry lines on his forehead. “In front of everyone, too, though?”

“Well, everyone was talking about it,” Keith said. “I wasn’t going to pull you aside to tell you and then repeat it to everyone else. Why are you so angry about it?”

Lance’s expression softened. “I’m not angry…unless this is some kind of messed up joke?”

“It’s not,” Keith said hurriedly. “I’m not _that_ bad at jokes.”

Lance huffed out a strained laugh and shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “So you actually think I’m good with people. Next you’ll be agreeing with the idea that I can pilot well.”

“You can,” Keith said. “You flew Blue well and you’ve gotten the hang of Red really quickly. Not just anyone could do that; you have to have a lot of talent as a pilot.”

Lance looked stricken, as though Keith had offered a punch instead of a compliment. He took one of his hands and placed it on Keith’s forehead. “Are you okay? Do you have a fever or something? Should I get Coran—”

“Why won’t you believe that I feel that way?”

Lance swallowed again and dropped his hand. “You’ve never said any of that before.”

“I’ve changed my approach,” Keith said quietly. “I realized what I was trying to say didn’t come across the same way when I actually said it. You can thank Pidge for that.”

Lance gave a weak smile. “She is pretty smart.”

“So are you,” Keith said, eyes flittering around Lance’s face. 

Lance stumbled a step backwards. “Keith…”

“Lance.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance said and he sounded so strangled. “What’s going on?”

Keith shrugged. “Nothing, if you don’t want anything to. It can just be some compliments from a friend.”

“Or?”

Keith relaxed his face as best as he could. “Or it could be how I feel about you.”

“I think I want the second option,” Lance whispered. 

Keith’s lips quirked up. “That one’s my favorite, too.”

He tugged on Lance, who came so willingly it almost hurt. Keith led him to the bed and pushed his chest gently down before climbing over him. Lance’s hair was splayed out on the blanket, framing his pleased but nervous face. He kept his arms closely tensed to his body. One at a time, Keith drew Lance’s hands up above his head and held them in his own. He tangled their legs together, silently urging Lance to use him as support. Lance stared up at him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. 

“Hi,” he whispered.

Keith grinned. “Hi. Fancy meeting you here.”

Lance snorted, relaxing slightly.

“I’m glad I did, though,” Keith continued. “It’s always neat to bump into the best shooter on the team.”

Lance averted his eyes. “That’s not…”

“Wrong? Yeah, it’s not. You also happen to be the most selfless, even if you won’t admit it. I can’t count the number of times you’ve put others ahead of yourself without hesitation.” Keith leaned in closer, close enough to count the few freckles that Lance had somehow retained in space. “Not to mention a fantastic swimmer, teammate, and friend.”

Lance closed his eyes and took a breath. “Keith.”

Keith took away one of his hands to cup Lance’s cheek. “Too much?”

Lance nodded, sucking in a shaky breath, but he leaned into Keith’s touch.

“Sorry,” Keith murmured and rested his forehead against Lance’s. They stayed there for a moment, everything quiet save for their mingled breathing.

“I don’t…” Lance opened his eyes. “I’m not used to hearing that kind of stuff.”

Keith frowned. “But you brag about yourself all the time.”

Lance tried to shrug, which mainly just made Keith’s hand slip an inch down his cheek bone. “Doesn’t mean I believe it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Lance said awkwardly, voice going for blithe.

“Well,” Keith said. “I’ll stop for now since it was too much, but I can keep going another time. You know, until you believe it like I do.”

Keith felt Lance tremble underneath his hand. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Keith said bluntly. “I’m not the kind of person to do something I don’t want to, or say something I don’t mean.”

Lance looked up at him and then to their connected hands. “Can you, uh.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Keith said hastily and released his grip. He leaned back, giving Lance extra space.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Lance said with a chuckle and sat up. “I just wanted to be able to do this.”

Lance brought one hand behind Keith’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss, resting the other hand gently on his cheek. Keith nearly tripped over his feet, inching closer and curling his fingers around Lance’s shoulders.  When air became too important of a factor to forgo in favor of kissing Lance, Keith pulled back.

“I like you,” he said,  essentially spitting the words out before his mind could fully process the circumstances. It was better that way—less of a chance for him to sputter unintelligibly and concern Lance.

Lance laughed, his expression beaming and his eyes fond.  Keith tried not to lose his breath at the thought that he had put such a smile on Lance’s face. His efforts were in vain, his chest constricting with desperation and hypoxia.  “I kind of figured by this point. I like you, too.”

“That’s good,” Keith said, because he didn't know what else to; words were never his strong suit.

“Yeah,” Lance said, a wry smile adorning his face. And for once, its existence didn’t irk Keith. He scooted back on the bed and tugged Keith toward him. Keith positioned himself on Lance’s lap, his knees resting carefully on the bed around Lance’s thighs and encircling them. He cupped Lance’s reddened cheeks, looking down at him from theartificial but minuscule height difference. Lance settled his hands loosely on Keith’s hips and tilted his head upwards for another kiss.

It was soft, so different from their fights or banter and Keith felt dizzy with want that pooled in his chest, stomach, and groin. It reminded him of long nights when he would visualize the interactions between him and Lance, always searching for an explanation behind his cryptic expressions and words, wanting but not daring to find hidden meanings. Lance’s expressions often seemed to hold a feeling of persuasion and desire. Keith was relieved to have the confirmation that the looks had been significant. He wondered when the glances had changed from bitter jealousy, when Lance’s feelings had evolved from a desire to beat him to a desire to be with him. Keith’s own feelings had crept up slowly, the notion of rivalry so distant that he hardly remembered its sensation. They were replaced with gentle touches and blinding smiles.

And with that thought brought a spark of need to be closer, closer than what was likely possible, just to assure that Lance was _there_ , would _be_ there for the eternity that Keith’s selfish heart coveted. He bit down lightly on Lance’s bottom lip, his heart thumping from the tangibility of the lips; they felt like home. 

Lance smiled faintly into the kiss and squeezed the bones of Keith’s hips with heavy affection. He pulled back slightly, raising a hand to sweep some uncooperative strands of hair out of Keith’s vision before letting his hand fall to the back of Keith’s neck, on the spot where hair met skin. Keith leaned into the touch, trying to memorize the exact sensation of each of Lance’s individual fingers against his skin. “Thank you, Keith.”

Keith buried his face in Lance’s neck, winding his arms around shoulders. He felt their chests beat rapidly in unison, and decided he would be content to never move again. “I’m proud of you, Lance. Always have been—always will be.”

Lance tightened his grip, voice faltering. “Even when this is all over and I’m just a cargo pilot again?”

Keith leaned back and brushed Lance’s cheek with his thumb. He gave him an earnest kiss, trying to convey his thoughts through it. “Especially then.”


End file.
